


find me in the clearing

by alotofthingsdifferent



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, long-distance angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon thinks about Leddy a lot -- too much, probably, especially since it’s been months since they’ve even seen each other.  But something about the thought of Nick’s lips on his, of Nick’s beard leaving red marks all over his neck,  is making his dick fill against his thigh.</p><p>Or: Brandon wins the Cup, but celebrating isn't the same without Nick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	find me in the clearing

**Author's Note:**

> for jay, who got me into this in the first place.
> 
> find me on [tumblr!](alotofthingsdifferent.tumblr.com)

Brandon’s drunk, and honestly, that’s probably an understatement.

It’s been hours of partying, of celebrating, of dousing his teammates in beer and champagne and downing shot after shot of booze, raising their glasses to themselves and to the people of Chicago.

It’s been _hours_ of it, and Brandon is done. He’s sticky, his beard is damp, and he needs another beer like he needs a hole in the head.

He stumbles into his apartment (how did he get here? He vaguely remembers someone pouring him into a limo, but the memory is hazy) and kicks off his shoes, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. 

He manages to make it to the kitchen and finds a bottle of Gatorade shoved in the back of the fridge. It takes some effort to get it open (his hand keeps slipping) but he finally does, only spilling a little bit when he gets the bottle to his lips. 

He strips on his way to the bedroom, tosses his shirt on the floor and kicks his pants off somewhere along the way, and when he finally sees his bed, he sighs happily and crawls to the middle of the mattress, collapsing onto his stomach. 

He lies there for awhile with his face buried in his pillow, but the room is tilting a little too much for him to fall asleep just yet. He rolls onto his back and manages to get one foot on the floor, which helps, but now that he’s mostly awake, he’s regretting his decision not to bring someone home with him. 

He’s been vaguely horny all night, just a slow build of arousal that he’d been ignoring in favor of guzzling champagne and singing at the top of his lungs, but now that he’s in the quiet of his own apartment, he allows his mind to wander to the last time he picked up. 

The guy was really attractive -- dark hair and eyes, broad shoulders and a killer smile -- but instead of conjuring up the memory of the guy -- Nate, Brandon thinks his name was -- on his knees with his mouth all over Brandon’s dick, the image of a different dark-guy with a killer smile flashes in his brain.

It’s nothing new. Brandon thinks about Leddy a lot -- too much, probably, especially since it’s been months since they’ve even seen each other. But something about the thought of Nick’s lips on his, of Nick’s beard leaving red marks all over his neck, is making his dick fill against his thigh.

He draws idle circles around his navel with the tips of two fingers and brings his foot up off the floor, letting his legs fall open, knees pressed to the mattress. He remembers the last time they were together -- months ago, in New York, when Nick laid him out and worshiped him for hours, first with this hands, then with his mouth, until Brandon was boneless in the middle of the bed, covered in sweat and come from the both of them. (It was the happiest he’d been in a while, until morning came and they had to say goodbye again.)

He cups his dick through his underwear, squeezes the head and rocks his hips, chasing the friction of his own hand. He’s not hard, but he’s getting there with every stroke of his fingers over his length, and he plucks at one nipple with his free hand, remembering the way Nick’s teeth felt when they scraped over his skin.

He shoves at the waistband, wriggles until it’s just below his balls, and wraps his hand around the base of his dick. He gives it a little shake and mumbles “wake up” into the emptiness of his room, but it’s no use. Even with the memory of Nick’s tongue lapping at the head of his cock, he can’t get it up.  
“Fuck,” he grumbles and rolls over onto his stomach, rubbing himself against the sheets. He goes as far as getting a leg up underneath him and brushing his fingers over his hole, but nothing’s working. His dick flags sadly between his legs even though his brain is begging him to get off.

He resigns himself to sleeping off his drunkenness and trying again in the morning, but he catches sight of his phone lying on the bedside table and, against his better judgment (who’s he kidding -- his judgment went out the window hours ago), pulls Nick’s name up and hits “call.”

The phone rings three times before Nick’s voice comes from the speaker, sleep-rough and slightly annoyed. “It’s 3 am, Brandon. What the fuck.”

Brandon’s throat goes a little tight, and he curses the fact that he’s such an emotional drunk. “Sorry,” he manages, still laying flat on his belly, the light from the phone illuminating a small spot on the bed. “I just -- I just.”

Nick sighs softly, and Brandon hears rustling on the other end of the line. “Yeah, B. I know. Me too.”

Brandon is absolutely _not_ going to cry, so he clears his throat, rolling over onto his side. “Did you watch?”

Nick’s quiet laughter rumbles from the phone. “‘Course I did. Congrats, man. Proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Brandon says. “I’m really drunk.”

Nick laughs again, and Brandon wishes more than anything that he was here in the flesh, a warm body to press against. “How long before Kaner passed out?” he asks, and Brandon scrubs his hand over his face, rubbing his nose.

“He’s still going,” Brandon says. “Typical.”

Nick hums, and they go quiet for a long moment, so long that Brandon thinks Nick might have fallen back asleep.

“Why’d you call?” Nick asks suddenly. Quietly.

Brandon huffs and rolls onto his back. He picks the phone up, holds it in front of his face so Nick doesn’t have to strain to hear him. “I’m horny.”

“Couldn’t find anyone to go home with you?” Nick asks, and there’s the hint of a tease in his voice. (Brandon recognizes the hint of something else, too, but he chooses to ignore it. It’s easier that way.)

“Didn’t wanna,” Brandon admits. “I wanted to just come home and pass out, but then…” he trails off, and he hears Nick sigh on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry this is so hard,” Nick say softly, and Brandon closes his eyes, imagines Nick lying in the same position he is, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling, imagines him saying _i miss you_ over and over in his head, just like Brandon is now. “Want me to talk you through it?”

Brandon smiles then, feels the back of his neck get hot even though Nick’s not even here to see it. “I think it’s a lost cause at this point,” he says, glancing between his legs at the way his dick is still sleeping against his hip.  
He worries his lower lip between his teeth and sighs softly. “Maybe in the morning?”

“It _is_ morning,” Nick reminds him, and Brandon would swat at his shoulder if he weren’t so many miles away. “But yeah. Sure, B. Call me when the sun comes up.”

“Leds --”

“I miss you,” Nick says quickly. “I’m glad you called.”

The line of tension that’s been holding in Brandon’s shoulders since he dialed Nick’s number loosens, and he breathes out slowly through his nose. “I miss you too,” he says, and there’s more, there’s so much more, but now isn’t the time.

“Get some sleep,” Nick says, and Brandon takes him off speaker, presses his phone to his ear, as tight as he can get it, to hear Nick’s voice up close. “I -- I’m --” He sighs softly, and Brandon closes his eyes. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, Leds. See you soon.”

He thumbs over the screen to end the call and stares at the ceiling until the sun starts spilling through the blinds.


End file.
